The Silver Claw
by Of Magic and Horsemen
Summary: In which Sherlock gets bored, the Doctor gets outsmarted, and a Rat gets framed. Casefic, sort of.
1. Chapter 1

**So, ah, my first attempt at a Sherlock/DW crossover. For Sherlock, it takes place after RF and before the reveal. For Doctor Who, it takes place somewhere after Journey's End but before The Next Doctor. This fic will be slightly AU, for both shows.**

**I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who. Yet.**

**-Surrounded by Idiots**

* * *

In an old, formerly abandoned house, several loud gunshots echoed through the almost-empty rooms. A few bullet holes sprouted from the already mildly abused wall covered in dull, chipped paint. The shooter was no other than the great Sherlock Holmes. Or at least, the _once_ great Sherlock Holmes. The usually thin man was now even thinner, only hardly ever eating the food his older brother sent once a week. Sherlock was extremely pale for having avoided leaving the old establishment for almost a year now. The once-famed detective lowered the gun and dropped it on a table.

He really wouldn't be able to take this much longer; his life was worthless without any mystery to solve, or at least without people to analyze. Now, the only people he ever saw were Molly twice a month, and Mycroft once a month, and even then, it was just Skype. He was very desperate for entertainment to use the gun, for he only had a limited amount of bullets left, for Mycroft refused to send him any, so when he was out, he was out. The thin, pathetic-looking man started to pace the room. That kept him occupied for about a minute. After that, he had an in-depth discussion with the wall. Since the wall couldn't really talk, that conversation lasted for about a minute.

The ragged-looking man grasped at his curly hair and pulled sharply. This constant isolation was driving him insane, completely and totally insane. He needed something to keep him occupied, or else he was worried he might go to drastic measures. Sherlock, on some days, worried that this constant boredom would make him like Moriarty. And that just couldn't happen.

He considered for a moment to use three nicotine patches, like the man once did for difficult problems. He quickly decided against it, because the patches simply helped him to think, and he really had ran out of things to think about ages ago.

So, like he had done for many-a-time now, went to bed early, it being only 9:00 in the morning.

* * *

At about noon, Sherlock shot up in bed. He could of sworn he had heard an unusual, sort of a whooshing noise, and judging by how it echoed and how little the sound was muffled, it had came from inside of the house. Sherlock considered going out unarmed, but decided against it. He might of been able to beat almost anyone in a fistfight before his confinement, but since he's been out of the practice for a while, he doubted his abilities. So, Sherlock picked up the gun laying on the bedside table and cocked it, slowly sneaking down the stairs to confront whatever had made that unusual sound.

He paused to listen about halfway down the stairs. He could clearly hear someone's voice, talking to what seemed like no one.

"Hm. This place looks much too deserted to be the source of that distress signal. Did you take us off course again? Wait just a second... Looks like this place really _isn't _deserted. Someone's taken great pains to make it look deserted, though. But those bullet holes look too recent, and everything's just not dusty enough. Someone is in here... But where, exactly?"

Sherlock took that as a cue. He called out fairly loudly, "That someone would be standing right over here." He stepped where he could see the man, with the gun raised. When he looked over the room, he was fairly surprised. The man was dressed in a trench coat, similar to the one he was wearing, and a pinstripe suit. Not only that, but smack dab in the middle of the room was a London police box. "How did you manage to fit that box in the door? It's much to big to have been able to fit."

Without answering the question, he raised his hands in surrender. "What is with," he muttered, "you humans and your guns?"

Sherlock had ignored this comment, because it had finally clicked. This was a person. An actual, living person. And people means a chance to analyze. He lowered the gun, and grinned, something the man hadn't done since the Fall.

"Judging from the state of your clothes, I'd say you travel a lot. They're ragged and torn, and look more like they've been chosen more for functionality than for style. Perhaps sentiment comes into the equation as well. You look about thirty, but your eyes look much older. Haunted, almost. I'd say you'd been in a war, possibly more than one, and have seen and lost more than you'd of liked. Considering your non-panicked yet immediate response to a gun pointed to your face, you have had many encounters like this before, and been able to slide out of every one of them unharmed. Considering that you were talking to yourself, or perhaps to an inanimate object, I'd say you are lonely, and had only recently lost a person or people you cared about. Am I wrong." He poured that all out in almost only one breath, ending with a statement instead of a question.

The strange man blinked and said simply, "And you are?"

Sherlock let out an uncharacteristic, animal-like growl and snapped, "Answer me first. Am. I. Wrong."

With a sigh, the other man lowered his hands and muttered, "No. Not really." He suddenly got an abnormally cheery expression and said, "Now will you answer my question?"

With a scowl, Sherlock replied with, "I am no one of your concern. Now, if you would be so kind as to take that _box _of yours and leave me be."

The odd man's grin faded, replaced with a concerned frown. He stepped forwards, and Sherlock stepped back. The man's frown deepened as he said, "You look like you've been in here for a while. For, I dunno, a year, maybe? And this place doesn't look very, you know, homely. No offense, but... It's not somewhere I would stay in for more than you have to. So, why haven't you left here?"

Sherlock snorted. "Why would I tell _you_, a complete stranger, about my life. Who are you, to barge in and question me?"

The man's cheery grin returned when he said, "I, my good man, am the Doctor!"

A shadow of a grin appeared on Sherlock's face. "You say that like I should be impressed."

The 'Doctor' crossed his arms and said, "Well, you still haven't told me who you are."

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

"You say that like I should be impressed."

Sherlock frowned again. "You don't know me? So you don't know about..."

"About what?"

"Oh, nothing of your concern."

The Doctor's grin widened. He said, "Well, you seem like a very intelligent man, Sherlock! I'd say that a man like you gets bored once and a while. I'm sure I do."

Sherlock tilted his head and said, "I'm listening."

"If you're looking for an adventure, I'd say you should follow me."

The Doctor turned around and threw open the doors of the Police box, immediately walking into it. Sherlock expected the footsteps to stop, but they continued. Judging by the echo, there was a room of large size, and the floor was made of some kind of grating, and not completely attached to a solid ground. Sherlock expected an illusion, because the box was much too small for either the large room or grating floors.

He slowly walked into the box, shocked by what he saw. The floors were indeed made of grating, and the room was about as large as 221B Baker street's living room. In the center was controls of some sort that looked fairly random, but sort of with an air of having a purpose. The Doctor was leaning against the high-tech looking center pillar, with a smug look on his face.

Almost instantly, Sherlock had four different theories, and decided to test them. The first one was simple; he walked around the perimeter of the room, running one hand on the wall. That proved that the room was, in fact, not an illusion. It also revealed that the walls were made up from something that looked a bit like wood, but felt slightly... off. He almost instantly eliminated the next theory. He wasn't feeling terrified, angry, paranoid, or any other side effects of Project HOUND. That left only two. Either he had gone crazy from the extreme lack of stimuli, or this was actually happening. And since his mind seemed to be working just as smoothly as normal, that left the last theory, no matter how unlikely it seems.

Sherlock muttered to himself, "When the impossible is eliminated, whatever is left, no matter how improbable, it must be the truth..."

The Doctor's smug face turned in to one of slight confusion, for he had overheard.. He said, "Well, that's a new one."

* * *

**Hope you liked it!**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO!**

**Yah, it's happening. Boom.**

**-Surrounded by Idiots**

* * *

Sherlock circled around the center column, running one hand on the edge of the control panels, as if that would tell him what the controls were for. After examining each thing very closely, he still couldn't tell what they were for. He turned to the Doctor, who was standing off to the side, watching, and asked, "So. A few questions."

The Doctor nodded and said, "Go on."

"How is this possible?"

With a slight smirk that said I-know-something-you-don't, a look Sherlock knew well mostly because he used it on other people, said, "The TARDIS is dimensionally transcendental."

"Ah, that makes sense."

A sort of doubting look sprouted on the Doctor's face as he said, "Oh, does it?"

Sherlock nodded and said, "Yes, it does. Obviously. Why wouldn't it?"

The Doctor shrugged and replied, "Well, most people have no idea what that means."

"That's because everyone's stupid."

The other man snorted and said, "Really? Even me?"

"Yes."

The Doctor looked slightly offended as he said, "Oh-key, next question."

"Why does it look like a police box?"

"Chameleon circuit helps it to blend in. Scans a ten-mile radius, and then looks like whatever is the most common thing in the area. But the TARDIS's Chameleon Circuit broke after I traveled to London, 1960s.

"TARDIS. Is that an acronym? If it is, what does it stand for?"

"It means Time and Relative Dimensions in Space."

"So," Sherlock said skeptically, "You're saying that this _thing _can travel large distances in space and time?"

"Exactly."

Sherlock crossed his arms and said, "Prove it."

The Doctor grinned and said, "I hoped you would say that." The Doctor ran up to the controls and started to twist levers, flip switches, and a few other things Sherlock really had no idea what the point of was. Suddenly, the whole structure started to shake, and a harsh groaning noise filled the impossibly large room. Sherlock immediately recognized it as the sound that had woken him up only ten minutes before.

* * *

Just as abruptly as it started, the groaning and the shaking stopped. The Doctor jumped to his feet and ran to the door with a childish grin plastered on his face. "Come on, Holmes! Come see how large your universe really is!" Sherlock, having just regained his balance, stood up and walked calmly to the door, his hands buried in the pockets of his trench coat.

"Whatever's out there, it better not be dull." With that, Sherlock threw open the TARDIS door and stepped outside.

Nothing could prepare the sociopath to what was outside those doors.

It certainly was a market, but not like any one he had ever seen on Earth. The stalls looked like they were grown naturally, as each was made from an odd orange wood with sticks and leaves coming out at random spots. The things being sold looked odd. There were a few stands selling a goopy looking black liquid in jars that looked very similar to tar. A few were selling fruit that looked nothing like any food he'd ever seen before. One was selling what looked like gloves, but the ends of each finger had long, wicked looking silver blades sown into the fabric.

But that wasn't the oddest thing there. The residents of the place were very unusual looking. Most people were 5 foot even, which caused both the Doctor and Sherlock to tower over everyone. The majority of the residents had either spiked or flat hair, either red or orange, and their skin were almost white. Sherlock quickly noticed that most of them had two different colored eyes, with a few exceptions. They had eyes on the side of their head, suggesting they were descended from prey, not predators. Along with whatever that species was, there were one or two other human-looking people, and even some more unusual looking species.

Sherlock's senses were being bombarded at all angles. After staying indoors with minor stimulus for a year, this was just all too much to take in. Everything was different. The sounds were unusual, the smells were new, the colors looked off, even the air felt diffrent. The sky was brown, and the grass was bright yellow. It was just way to much for Sherlock's hypersensitivity. His head started to hurt in a way it had never before. The great Detective swayed a few times before falling over in a faint.

* * *

The first thing Sherlock was aware of were voices.

A high pitched, energetic sounding voice said, "Mr. Smith, are humans all that _tall?"_

The familiar voice of the Doctor said, obviously amused, "No, not all humans. Only some."

The voice, possibly of a young female, said again, "Mr. Smith-"

The voice was interrupted by a louder, lower voice, most likely the father, that said, "Sul, don't bother your guest with all of your idiotic questions!"

The first voice quietly said, "Sorry, Mr. Smith."

As the three continued the conversation, Sherlock slowly blinked open his eyes. He was in some kind of house, with walls made of the same odd orange wood as the market stalls. He was laying on a couch, with black, scratchy looking but surprisingly comfortable material. He slowly and groggily sat up, rubbing the top of his head, glad the headache wasn't as bad as before. The detective noticed an opening on one of the walls, and through it saw the Doctor and two of the odd-looking people he had seen in the marketplace. One was the average five foot, with spiked orange hair, one blue eye and one green eye. The other was shorter, about 4 and a half feet tall, and had flat, deep red hair. Sherlock inferred that the shorter one was Sul, while the taller one was Sul's father.

The Doctor, who apparently was going by the pseudonym Mr. Smith, noticed Sherlock and grinned. "Good, Holmes, you're awake! Come on in."

Sherlock stood up and walked into the adjoining room, having to duck down to get through the opening. The Doctor was smiling, and so was the older male.

The whatever-it-was said, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I am Tor Nelbrin, and this is my daughter, Sul Nelbrin. Ren should be coming back soon, her job required her to stay out late tonight. I hope you and Mr. Smith can stay for dinner?"

Before Sherlock could deny the offer, the Doctor butted in and said, "Of course we can! We don't have any plans." Sherlock glared at the Doctor as he grinned happily.

Tor nodded several times and left the room, along with Sul, leaving the Doctor and Sherlock alone.

The Doctor explained as quickly as possible to the still-glaring Sherlock, "We are currently on the planet Trilnet 5. The main species on the planet are the Grelmks, although there are several other minorities, one of them humans. It is also considered rude to turn down an offer for dinner, unless there is a pressing reason to deny, which we happen to not have. So try to be polite."

Sherlock continued to glare.

"So, alien planet. How are you taking it? Shocking, I believe, considering you fainted."

With a snort, Sherlock corrected, "Actually, no. Because I have a limited knowledge of the solar system, I really couldn't care less if we aren't the only life forms out there. Seriously, I only learned about the solar system being heliocentric a few years ago. It was the overstimulus that knocked me out. Having been cut off from the outside world for over a year and then thrust into a completely new environment, it was just too much for my ever-busy mind to keep up with."

The Doctor looked slightly flustered, and he said, "Seriously? You only just learned that the Earth revolves around the sun?"

* * *

**And that's chapter two! Sorry nothing really happened, but I promise the plot will really start next chapter. Just consider yourself lucky I decided to post two chapters in one day.**

**-Surrounded by Idiots**


End file.
